The Heart of a Pirate

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

The first letter from Anne Bonny to her father William Cormac:

3 March, 1718

Dear Father,

I bid you farewell. I know you disapprove of my choice for a husband. True, he is but a simple sailor. However, I refuse to marry any of those milksops or fortune hunters who continue to darken our door. I love James Bonny and he has sworn his life to me. I ask nothing more from you than your prayers for my health and well-being.

Your daughter,

Anne

July 1811

Harbour Town, South Carolina

Captain Conal O’Brien leaned forward and felt for the linen cloth draped over the foot end of the tub. After wiping his face, he braced his hands on the rim and started to push himself to his feet. He mustn’t dawdle if he was going to make it to his sister’s wedding on time. His cousin Brendan would learn that he could also dress for an occasion in polished boots and finery. They’d carried on this good-natured rivalry since they were boys.

Conal raised his head, and his nose nearly clipped a pistol barrel. The faint acrid odor of g*n powder assailed his nostrils. Focused on the cold, grey metal, he was careful to avoid any sudden movement as he eased himself back into the water. He raised his gaze to peruse the person holding the weapon, a brigand wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low. Beneath the hat, a brightly colored scarf covered his hair. Behind the g*n bearer stood a second figure, armed as well.

“You have my attention,” Conal said evenly. n***d and unarmed, what other choice was there than negotiation? Although talking his way out of a situation like this wasn’t his strength. He was better at negotiating with his fists.

The one holding the pistol stood between him and the lantern, but from what he could ascertain, the intruder was tall, but slight in build. All that prevented Conal from going on the offensive were their weapons.

The closer man must have been thinking along a similar line of thought, because his pistol shook slightly. “This ship has been taken,” he said. “If you value your life and the lives of the crew that remain, you will yield.”

Crew that remain?

Conal’s stomach twisted. How had he missed the sound of battle aboard? Granted, all but the watch and a handful of men still making repairs had been allowed to go ashore to attend the wedding celebration, but he should have heard a warning shout or a pistol shot even down here in the galley. How many of his men had lost their lives? He ground his teeth, a silent vow of vengeance burning his throat, guilt trapping it there.

“Do you yield?” The intruder tightened his hold on the pistol.

Conal cursed under his breath. “I yield ye black-hearted spawn of a tavern wench. What are your demands?”

“You will take us and this ship to Jamaica,” he said. “Immediately.”

Conal tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The voice sounded too…fragile. A woman, perhaps?

⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎

Stevie swallowed and gripped the pistol handle more firmly. Her arm was beginning to tire from holding it for so long, but she didn’t dare lower it. The mountain of a man in the tub looked as if he could crush her head like a grape with one hand, and her young cousin’s with the other. More often than not, she could look an average man straight in the eye. However, with this one, she doubted her head would reach his nose.

Stevie and her family had spied on the Seeker for a couple of hours.

“Look,” Uncle Bernard had finally pointed. “Most of the crew is heading to shore. There’s only a small watch left behind.” He rubbed his chin and peered through the thick fog in the direction of the sun, which was up there somewhere in the late afternoon sky. “This fog bank will provide perfect cover. Let’s go. The quicker we get this ship to that devil-pirate Gampo, the quicker he’ll return the children to us.”

The memory of the pirate’s men ripping her little brother and sister from her arms and taking them into the belly of a vessel called the Dragon had Stevie checking the priming of her pistol.

Thankfully, she hadn’t needed to use it. The remaining crew of the Seeker had gathered around an upturned crate and played cards, enabling Stevie and the rest of the family to surround them.

The men had surrendered with barely a word.

It had been a foolhardy plan.

Ridiculous.

Dangerous.

Crazy.

Yet absolutely imperative they succeed.

The man in the tub arched his brows, still awaiting her answer, then his eyes narrowed before sliding down to her soft doeskin boots and back up again. She should have stayed more in the shadows; she might have appeared a bit more intimidating that way.

“Stevie,” her young cousin whispered from behind her, bringing her attention back in line. What was the question? Oh, yes. Demands.

“You will relinquish your freedom and possessions,” she said, barely able to keep the tremor from her voice. Her gaze paused at the gold signet ring on the man’s finger. If they were going to become pirates, she might as well start acting like one. She took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back a little. “Beginning with your ring,” she said, holding out her hand.

The man’s jaw clenched and the knuckles gripping the tub’s edge whitened. He was contemplating his chances of overpowering her and taking her pistol; she could see that in the way his gaze shifted back and forth between her and Gabriel. If he had a weapon, and if it had been a one-on-one situation instead of one against two (with guns), he likely wouldn’t have paused to contemplate it this long. He would have defended himself by attacking them. And he’d have won. Even now, she sensed he was still calculating his odds.

She eased a step back, careful to keep her pistol well within a lethal range. “Please don’t try it,” she said. “I’d prefer to save my shot.” She was far from her cozy little room off the kitchens of her brother’s gaming house. Uncle Bernard had given her a brief lesson on managing a pistol, but it still terrified her to hold it.

His eyes widened and his brows raised in surprise. She’d been right in her assumptions, then. She usually was. Her intuition annoyed her brothers no small amount, and they always avoided her when they wished their thoughts to remain hidden. Only one of them could hide from her, but he was a gambler and so it was expected, otherwise he wouldn’t be a very good gambler, would he?

The man twisted the ring from his finger and tossed it to her. She caught it and placed it on the only finger it would fit—her thumb.

Keeping her focus on their hostage, she moved behind him to the stack of clothes on the galley table and removed the dagger and pistol next to them. She’d keep a close watch; he looked like the type of man who’d rather fight against the odds than give himself over. They needed to get him up on deck with the rest of her family before she fainted from the trauma of this whole episode. She came down to the galley to see what stores they had. Finding a man taking a bath was not what she’d expected to see.

“Get dressed,” she said, with as much authority as she could muster.

With the oily movement of a cat, he stood then reached for a linen rag. Stevie felt her eyes widen. She was wrong. Very wrong. The top of her head would barely reach his chin, let alone his nose. Wide, thick shoulders rippled as he moved, and took up most of the space in the galley. A long scar trailed across his ribcage. A fighting man. A very strong, very muscular, very handsome, very n***d, fighting man.

She should shut her eyes, avert her gaze, something...but that would be foolish right now. She’d never seen a n***d man as perfectly proportioned as this one. To be honest, she’d only seen one other n***d man (other than her terribly immodest brothers while growing up). Her cousin, Gabriel's mortified expression from the doorway prompted her to roll her eyes and give him a pointed look he interpreted perfectly. She’d changed his diapers when she was eight. Besides, she was no dainty maiden.

She’d lost her virginity after falling foolishly in love with a gambler who’d promised her a life of love and luxury. The next day, after losing everything he had as well as several hundred dollars in credits to the house, he disappeared and never returned.

He’d crushed her heart. Ruined it. Ruined her.

Worse were the looks of pity from her brothers and male cousins. Especially her brother Tristan, who’d tried to warn her, but she’d defended the snake, and refused to listen. It was a painful lesson to learn. Men would tell a woman anything to sway her attentions to the bedroom, even profess their love and ask for her hand in marriage and persuade her to give him the most precious gift she had.

Their captive turned toward her and reached for his clothes. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she could barely swallow. He had a chiseled chest with a faint layer of fine, light brown hair that darkened to a burnished auburn as it trailed past his navel.

Oh, my.

“Satisfied, little rabbit?” he asked. A cocky brow quirked up.

So he’d already guessed she was a woman in men’s clothing. She assumed he was talking about her perusal, which she wasn’t about to address. No need to give him a burst of confidence right now. Besides, her mouth was still dry. Instead, she licked her lips then asked a question. “Little rabbit?” She looked nothing at all like a rabbit. Her ears, along with her hair, were covered.

“You look as if you’re ready to jump out of your skin. Perhaps you’re afraid of me?” He leaned toward her.

Yes.

“No.” She barely managed a response. Her attempt at laughter was pathetic at best.

“Well...little rabbit,” his voice was lower than a growl, “you should be.”

Her heart jerked in a panicked beat and she stepped back.

He dressed. A pair of shiny cordovan boots stood next to the tub, and he pulled them on while muttering obscenities about someone named Brendan. That task complete, he stood up straight, crossed his thick arms over his very impressive chest and glowered at her. His eyes were a grey-green with a golden band around the pupil, reminding her of a tiger she’d once seen in a traveling show. She wanted to swallow, but was paralyzed. Was this how a deer felt just before it became a tiger’s dinner?

He’d already determined she was female. Now, he was studying her, calculating the odds on a successful confrontation. If he charged her right now, she’d probably squeal and tumble into a terrified heap on the floor, but he needed to believe she’d shoot him. She pulled back the hammer of her pistol until it clicked to help him with his decision-making process, and hopefully to fortify hers. Still, her heart pulsed and throbbed in uneven beats. Running the kitchens in her family’s boarding house and gaming house was a far cry from being a brigand. Pirating was not on her short list of talents. In fact, she was pleased she’d pulled back the hammer without accidentally discharging the g*n.

Stevie called over her shoulder to her cousin, inwardly cursing at the way her voice trembled. “Gabriel, if he makes a move toward either of us, shoot him.” His hammer clicked behind her.

Good.

Pointing toward the door with the pistol, she gestured for her prisoner to go topside.

Almost soundlessly, he moved in long, sinuous strides through the passageway and up the ladder. He smelled of soap, new leather boots, and a musky scent she knew was all him. The vision of that tiger from long ago crept into her thoughts again as she eyed his movements.

Her thoughts jumped to her family up on the main deck, probably thinking she was taking inventory of the pantry. No one expected she’d find anyone down here, which was a stupid assumption, apparently.

Quite honestly, it was a miracle they’d successfully taken the brigantine.

And this was supposed to be the easy part.

⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎

Of all the b****y, rotten luck.

Conal heaved himself up the last two steps and perused the deck. His skeleton crew were all tied to the mizzen mast in the center of the animal pen amidst a couple of pigs, two goats and the cow. The first mate was busy cursing at the goat currently munching on his hat.

So much for rallying a rebellion anytime soon.

To resist now would be foolish. Best to wait for a more opportune moment, after they had time to evaluate their captors’ strengths and weaknesses. He glanced at the one called “Stevie.”

She was taller than most women. Her long, slender limbs moved fluidly, like a dancer he’d encountered once when he was in Arabia. It was hard to draw his gaze from her face. Dark, exotic lashes framed the grey eyes beneath delicately arched brows, and her curves were in all the right places. Even the long vest she wore couldn’t hide her form. His guess was that she had a French heritage, but since her English was flawless, was probably American.

Women weren’t usually wanted, needed or appreciated aboard a ship. There were always exceptions, like his sister, but in general, having a woman aboard brought bad luck. Chances were that Stevie was important to at least one other person in their group, or else she wouldn’t be here at all. Taking her hostage would be his first move when the time was right. She was someone’s lover, wife, sister or daughter.

Surrounding the pen was a group of well-armed men. From what Conal could discern, based their mannerisms and stance, they were landlubbers. A couple of men with greenish tints to their faces hugged the rail on the larboard side. Only old two salts stood with their legs braced in a confident manner. Those two were definitely seamen.

Without waiting for a pistol to poke him in the back, he strolled over to the pen. Stevie followed, keeping a wary distance.

“Is your watch unharmed, Remus?” he asked his first mate.

Remus looked up and his cheeks reddened. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Captain.” He added in a chagrined tone, “We just didn’t expect...”

The man didn’t need to finish the sentence, really. Even Conal wouldn’t have expected anyone to do something this audacious so close to Harbour Town in the late afternoon, fog or no fog.

Conal scanned their captors. He’d earlier assumed they were pirates, but that seemed incorrect now. There were four other full-grown men, two of which were obviously brothers, and all most certainly had to be related in some way. Along with light eyes and hair the color of black coffee, there were similarities in build and stature, as well as in certain facial features. The only exception was one of the grizzled sailors, a short, wiry, stubble-faced man who looked to be about sixty.

In the light of day, it was more obvious the one called Gabriel was still a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He was an i***t for allowing those two to take him without a fight. Pistols notwithstanding.

One of the old salts strode forward, a scowl on his face. “What’s this?”

“Gabriel and I found him in the galley,” Stevie said.

“Hiding?”

“Bathing.”

The man’s eyes widened and he spun to face the two.

“Why didn’t you call for help?”

Stevie just shrugged. “Quite honestly, Uncle Bernard, there wasn’t time,” she said. “We found him in a vulnerable situation and easily handled it on our own.”

Bernard rubbed his forehead before brushing a salt and pepper curl from his grey eyes. He spoke to one of his men. “Adrian, toss him over with the rest.”

Adrian strode toward him and Conal swallowed. He was normally the tallest in the room, but this one had him by almost a half a head. He clenched his fists at his sides. This fight might be challenging.

Stevie touched her uncle’s arm. “Wait, we might need him. He’s their captain.”

A quick flicker of relief crossed Bernard’s stern features before he turned his attention back to Adrian. “Never mind. Make a sweep of the lower decks instead.”

An angry shout came from the water below on the port side of the Seeker. “At least toss over the oars, you sons of Satan!”

Conal started to walk toward the voice, but at Stevie’s raised pistol, he stopped. “What have you done with the rest of my men?”

Bernard answered. “We sent them off in longboats.” He grabbed two oars, walked to the opposite side of the ship and heaved them overboard.

“You half-masted, verminous dawcock!” came the reply from the water below.

At least the men had oars available to row them to shore, although there was no guessing how long it would take to get to them. Conal doubted there were any swimmers among the crew on the longboat. It would take some time to paddle with their hands to where the oars floated on the starboard side of the ship.

Meanwhile, Bernard moved Conal near the mizzen close to the other men then bound his hands and hobbled his legs in irons, effectively depleting his mobility.

The pirates gathered together and the two old seamen began assigning tasks, and it wasn’t long before they were in an argument.

“The anchor has to be brought up before ye can do that, ye dim-witted dog.”

“I know that! But we need feet on the yards and arms on the sheets if we’re going to get underway, you vermin-ridden old goat.”

Not only did their captors walk the deck like lubbers, they didn’t even look like pirates. There were no missing appendages except for two fingers gone on the oldest sailor’s left hand. There were no visible scars, and for the most part, none of the younger men showed the effects of sun-darkened skin or scurvy.

Curious indeed.